


Blood Like Copper

by Cawaiiey



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, M/M, Near-Death Experience, Pre-Established Relationship, have fun, prompt ask, surprise he doesn't die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 07:39:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10612287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cawaiiey/pseuds/Cawaiiey
Summary: Blood tastes like copper.Well-known fact, sure, but it’s really all Jesse can think of right now. Seeing as it’s filling his mouth at an alarming rate.





	

**Author's Note:**

> WHOO HOO ANOTHER ONE now with blood   
> prompt: Oh, my God, I thought you were going to die. Please don’t ever scare me like that again -

Blood tastes like copper. 

Well-known fact, sure, but it’s really all Jesse can think of right now. Seeing as it’s filling his mouth at an alarming rate. 

The taste floods his senses, all metallic and bitter tang, and it briefly numbs him to the pain that threatens to cripple him. Black dances at the edge of his vision, promising him sleep and a welcome release to his agony, and, fuck, he kind of wants to succumb to it. Would help him with the throbbing that damn near settles in his  _ bones _ . Fuck, if he just went to sleep, it’d be gone when he woke up, right? Make him feel better. 

Blood certainly even smells like copper. 

The scent of it clogs his nostrils, thick in his throat, though he can’t really swallow at all, what with all the blood. McCree tries to raise a hand and wipe at what is likely scarlet running down his chin but he can’t bring himself to move much. Everything’s all wet and warm below him, on him, in him. Hurts a lot, though. He’s distantly aware of shouting, screaming, something that sounds like his name. The blurring at the edge of his vision sure is encroaching, narrowing his vision steadily with every passing second. He feels the ground shake as someone drops to their knees in front of him. Someone with worried umber eyes and raven hair. A pretty sight to see as his last, honestly. 

Jesse knows this is it. He knows he should fight it. But, fuck, he’s real tired, and he can’t even see anything anymore. Maybe his eyes are closed? He doesn’t feel damned to open them, though. Devil’s luck of his has run out, a dry well. One thing left on his mind before even that decides to shut down. 

Blood makes Hanzo squeamish. 

\------------------------------------------------------

He floats for a bit. Jesse was right about the pain being gone when he went to sleep. He doesn’t really feel much of anything for a while. 

McCree knows, somewhere in the back of his head, that he’s dead. Truly, that was the only way that what happened would have ended. What had happened, anyway? Mission was going tits up, he knew that, but, well. He didn’t remember why he’d started bleeding in the first place. Couldn’t recall what exactly had caused such awful wounds. 

Could only remember blood and copper. 

Y’know, he really thought death was more like walking into the light or being greeted at the gates of Heaven, something grandiose and dramatic like that. But this was a lot more like floating in darkness, like purgatory, rather than any sort of judgement. If this was all death was, Jesse McCree was likely to get pretty bored of it. It would be better if he had any sort of company. Like, maybe seeing his mom or pop, any of the old members of Deadlock (sons of bitches they had been, they were fun company) or, fuck, better than any of them, he’d like to see Hanzo again. 

One last time. He didn’t get to say goodbye, or apologize for leaving him so soon, or to say I love you. Especially that. He’d never say it to the archer again. Jesse figures that Hanzo’ll be mad at him for a long time, but he hopes that he’ll move on and find someone better, someone not so selfish as to die stupidly like he did, without even a word. He loves him so much. He just wants him to be happy, even if it’s with someone else. Not that he’d be able to complain if Hanzo did move on, on account of being dead and all that. 

Speaking of being dead, Jesse was starting to notice that there was a faint thudding sound echoing in the back of his mind. And that the blackness surrounding him was starting to steadily lighten. Finally, it was like a long elevator ride up to the gates of Heaven. He could get judged and move on with it. Except… The world around him was developing shapes, the thudding in the back of his head was shifting down to his chest, pressing against his ribcage, and a dull throb of pain surged through his veins. It washed away suddenly as a tingling warmth enveloped him, tinting the developing world around him a pale yellow. He was vaguely aware that he should take in a breath.

Jesse McCree felt his lungs spasm as he pulled in a breath of air, the fuzzy, blurry shapes surrounding him suddenly snapping into focus. The sterile white of the ceiling above him and harsh fluorescent lights burned his retinas with their brightness. He screwed his eyes shut, dragging in ragged, wet breaths as that warm feeling washed over him again. A biotic field, he knew that. Angie used those on people who were hurt, using that ol’ staff of hers. 

Right. Jesse had been hurt. 

He doesn’t know if anybody is there but he won’t bother to try and open his eyes, not until he felt like he could withstand the whiteness of the room around him, but he figures he should try to speak anyways. It takes a few tries, but he manages to ask, voice hoarse with disuse, “what happened…?” 

First thing he hears is a gasp and then the deafening sound of a chair falling to the floor with a clatter, then there’s someone above him, blocking the lights that were trying to blind him even with his eyes closed. Jesse blearily opens them, peering up at the person above him. He has to blink a few times to make sure he’s seeing them correctly. 

Backlit by the fluorescents, with his hair hanging around his face, and dark purple bags under his eyes, is Hanzo Shimada. His mouth is hanging open, his brows are knitted together, and he looks close to tears. Jesse McCree’s never seen such a pretty sight before. He wants to reach up and smooth away the furrow between those prim eyebrows, to tuck his hair back behind his ear, to thumb his trembling lower lip, but his hand won’t move. Neither of them will. He’s still bone-tired and feels mighty weak so he’s not gonna try any harder, but he’s gotta assuage his Hanzo’s worries in some way. 

“Well, hello,” he croaks out, smile likely dopey, “I must be dead if an angel like you is greetin’ me.” He tries to joke, tries to use humor to cover up the fact that he was absolutely terrified, and to reassure his lover that he was fine, but it doesn’t work. The crack of his voice betrays him. The words only make the wetness welling up in Hanzo’s eyes spill over, as his lips pull back into a twisted smile and his head falls to rest on Jesse’s shoulders. 

The desire to wrap his arms around Hanzo is overwhelming, but he still can’t find the strength to get the damn things to move. He settles for tilting his head and inhaling the scent of Hanzo’s hair, to nuzzle his craggy nose into his scalp, while the man’s shoulders heave with every desperate sob. His hands are resting on McCree’s chest, gripping the hospital gown that covers him, and crumpling it in his grip. 

For long moments, it seems like Hanzo won’t ever stop. During that time, Jesse just murmurs sweet nothings into the top of his head, in Spanish and English, while his mind races to catch up with everything that’s happened.  _ Remember, remember, remember _ . He’d gotten hurt. He should’ve been dead. There was too much blood, too much pain. Who saved him? Angie must have done it, no one else could have.  _ Remember, remember, remember.  _

Blood tastes like copper. 

“Hanzo,” Jesse tries to say, because he can’t fucking wrap his head around everything that happened before he plunged into darkness for an indeterminate amount of time, but he ends up unable to speak at all, what with Hanzo’s mouth pressed to his. Hungry and desperate. His lips taste like salt and his cheeks are wet against Jesse’s face, evidence of how hard he’d been crying. McCree tries to tilt his head and reciprocate, but Hanzo barely lingers for more than a few moments before he’s pressing kisses to every part of Jesse’s face, leaving pecks along the curve of his jaw and down the craggy slope of his nose. He sobs every now and then, hiccuping sounds of despair that tear Jesse apart. He wants to say something, to let him know how much he loved him and how sorry he was that he’d almost left him like that, but it doesn’t seem right, not with the desperation that colors his every kiss. Jesse lets him take his fill, kissing back when his lips fall on his, until Hanzo finally calms down enough to press his forehead against the cowboy’s and to stare into his eyes. 

McCree rubs his nose along Hanzo’s regal one, gazing up at his eyes and waiting for him to say something. Hanzo looks like he’s about to cry again, but holds it in, knocking the tip of his nose against the cowboy’s in kind. He takes in a shuddery breath, holds it for a second, and says, in a breathy exhale, “don’t leave me again, Jesse McCree.” 

He can’t help but smile at that, at his lover’s sentiments, and nods as he tilts his head to slot their lips together, the feeling coming back to his leaden limbs. Hanzo’s lips part and Jesse swipes his tongue along the other’s, tasting the man for the first time in what feels like decades. He’s only got one thing on his mind at this moment. 

Hanzo Shimada tastes like feeling alive, and blood tastes like copper, and he knows which flavor he prefers.

**Author's Note:**

> aw they lov each other so much and i love THEM SO MUCH anyways   
> please  
> let me know what u think


End file.
